River of Dreams

by Lynn Kurland

  She realized, perhaps belatedly, that she didn’t much care for being underground, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit as much. Not when the king was doing them the courtesy of giving them a personal tour of his keep.

  She tugged at the neck of her gown. It hadn’t occurred to her that it would be so warm beneath the palace—if that’s where they were. Actually, she hadn’t expected many things, beginning and ending with being treated like royalty. In Seanagarra, she had been shown every courtesy she could have imagined, but she had assumed that had been because she had come with Rùnach and they had been humoring him.

  At Léige, for some reason things were different. Rùnach was a guest, not a family member, and she was nothing. They could have easily put her in a closet and invited her to work for her food.

  Instead, she had woken in a bed so soft, she felt as if she’d been sleeping on a cloud. She didn’t remember having put on a nightgown of material so soft, she half feared to touch it, though she could tell well enough where it had come from and who had woven and subsequently sewn it.

  She’d had a bath, breakfast in front of a roaring fire whilst she lounged about in a luxurious dressing gown, then she’d been dressed in a velvet gown of ice blue trimmed with lace and things that sparkled. Putting her hands on the gems made her slightly dizzy, but she supposed that might have been because they had come from the ground beneath her feet.

  It apparently had that effect on others as well, which she had clearly seen in Rùnach that morning. After a very late brunch, she had been led to what she had assumed was the king’s great hall where she had found Rùnach and the king sitting in front of one of the hearths, chatting about politics. Uachdaran had kept his seat as she approached, which she had expected him to. Rùnach, however, had jumped to his feet and looked at her in astonishment. She had looked quickly down to make certain she was adequately dressed, but had seen nothing untoward happening with her gown.

  “What is it?” she had asked him.

  He had made her a bow that made the very formal bow Còir of Tòrr Dòrainn had made her look like nothing more than a bit of a stumble. She had frowned at him, then asked the king what Rùnach had had for breakfast and if it had been accompanied by too much ale. The king had laughed, then offered her a tour of his palace, which she had accepted.

  All of which had led her to where she was at present, coming to a halt after the floor had ceased to have a slope.

  “Take her hand, Rùnach. I want to see her face when she sees what lies ahead. Close your eyes, Mistress Aisling, if you can bear to. I won’t plunge you into anything perilous.”

  Aisling didn’t suppose she was a particularly trusting soul, but she did trust Rùnach. That and she had the feeling the rock would tell her in its deep whisper if she was about to meet some unwholesome fate.

  She closed her eyes as Rùnach took her hand, then continued to walk with him until he stopped.

  “You may open your eyes now,” the king said.

  Aisling did, to complete blackness. She wondered if it were just her eyes failing her or if there was indeed no light. Then she heard the king whisper a word of command.

  At that word, the song the rock was singing changed to a dirge, though it wasn’t unpleasant or terrifying. It was simply the lowest voice in a mighty chorus.

  Other voices were added, almost imperceptibly at first. As they became clear to her, as she was able to hear their harmony layered upon the dirge, she realized that the passageway she was standing in was growing lighter—and that the light was coming from within the walls.

  Gold, silver, other colors she had names for and some she didn’t: they lit themselves until the entire passageway was alight and the air was full of their song. Aisling looked at the king and found his sharp eyes full of something that wasn’t quite passion and definitely not madness, but something that had good quantities of both things. He looked up at her intensely.

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t have words.”

  He smiled. “Wait.” He nodded toward the end of the passageway. “Wait.”

  Rùnach took her hand and pulled her forward to walk between him and the king. She could do little besides look around her and marvel at what was contained in the rock, beautiful things that revealed themselves because their king had commanded them to. She suspected they would have leapt from the walls into his hands if he had asked them to.

  Without warning, the passageway opened up into a cavern that was dark for only a heartbeat before it erupted into light.

  She gasped.

  The king only looked up at her and smiled. “The stuff of dreams, eh, gel?”

  She could only nod. She started forward, then hesitated. “May I?”

  “Of course.”

  The floor was the same polished stone that she had seen in the king’s throne room as she passed it on her way to find Rùnach that morning. She walked out across it, into light and into a wall of song. She wasn’t sure she was capable of deciphering it—if such a thing could be done anyway—so she simply walked through it, unsure where she was in relation to the floor and the ceiling. There were huge pillars of things she couldn’t name hanging down from the ceiling, but for all she knew they had been carved specifically to cast light into the cavern. She walked through the middle of the cavern first, then along the wall, trailing her fingers over the stone. She wasn’t at all surprised to realize that what she was seeing, all that light, all that music, came from things buried deeply in the rock.

  She made the circle a second time, only this time the chorus had faded to a whisper and what she heard over it were the tales the silver and gold and gems had to tell her, tales of their creation, tales of gifting parts of themselves to miners who created heavy jewelry and crowns to adorn the kings and queens of Durial who had passed on before.

  She walked along the edge of the cavern a final time, only this time the lights began to go out in the walls as she passed. She listened shamelessly to the dreams of the veins of ore and gems as they returned to slumber. They were dreams of a deep magic that grew slowly and waited patiently until it was called upon.

  She paused. She could have sworn she also heard the sound of something running, a faint stream perhaps, but she saw nothing there.

  She frowned and continued on, the lights extinguishing themselves behind her, until she reached where the king and Rùnach were chatting.

  “Don’t know what it is,” the king was saying, “but I know I don’t care for it.”

  Aisling came to a stop next to Rùnach who was frowning a little himself.

  “Water running?”

  “Not water,” the king said. “Something running beneath my mountains. I can feel it under the roots.”

  “I heard it,” Aisling agreed, then froze when both men turned to look at her. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I spoke out of turn.”

  The king shook his head. “Of course you didn’t. What did you hear?”

  “I thought it was a stream,” Aisling said, “but I couldn’t see anything. Is there an underground stream nearby?”

  “There isn’t,” Uachdaran said slowly, “but I will admit there are many things that even I haven’t had a chance to explore in spite of all my time on the throne. Perhaps I’ve just missed something.” He seemed to shake aside a thought that bothered him. “Now, lass, what did you think of the bowels of my mine here?”

  “Spectacular,” she said. “They were happy to have you come visit.”

  “Well, one could hope,” he said with a smile. “Now, which would you two prefer: a tour of the smithy or something to eat?”

  “You know what I’ll say,” Rùnach said cheerfully, “so perhaps Aisling should make the decision.”

  “I would like to see the smithy,” she admitted.

  “Interested in the musing of ore as it becomes the finest swords available?”

  She smiled. “I can only imagine the boasting that goes on and the plans that are made for future glory and honor.”

&
nbsp; The king laughed a little. “Aye, lass, there is that in abundance. You can tell your wee elven princeling what’s said, as I imagine he’s never heard his sword say anything at all, eh, Rùnach?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Rùnach protested. “I would imagine I’ve had swords that had plenty to say about my paltry skill.”

  The king looked him over. “I see you have a blade there, but it doesn’t look as if it has any magical properties.”

  “A gift from Sgath,” Rùnach said. “He was humoring me, I believe.”

  “Well, if you’re interested, we’ll see if Mistress Aisling hears anything in my forge that can’t face a lifetime of not being at your side. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” Rùnach said seriously.

  The king started back up the passageway. “I don’t suppose, Mistress Aisling, that he has told you anything about his adventures with the sword, has he?”

  “Nay, Your Majesty, he hasn’t. I’ve seen him wield a sword, though, at Gobhann.”

  “And just what did the master there have to say about him?”

  “Many things,” Aisling said, though she supposed she didn’t need to repeat the slurs and insults. “In the end, Weger told him that he had nothing to teach him.”

  “A wise man, that Scrymgeour Weger,” the king said, nodding. “Knows a thing or two about steel and its wielders. Your young lad walking behind us, trying not to salivate over the possibility of having one of my swords, went through a very long and distinguished list of swordmasters.”

  “Did you know him so well as a lad, then, Your Majesty?”

  The king shook his head. “Relations between our houses weren’t what one might call warm, though I did allow his mother to bring a selection of her spawn here a time or two. The reason I know about his swordmasters is because I supplied Princess Sarait with a pair of them, but only after she promised me I wouldn’t have to sit next to her father on the Council of Kings if I complied.”

  Aisling smiled. “And that went well, I take it?”

  “It went as well as you might expect with my having to be in the same room with that feisty old elf, but that was before I found myself unwillingly breaking bread with him and being forced to admit that with a mug of ale in his hand he wasn’t as intolerable as he is whilst sitting in a chair pontificating about the glories of his realm.”

  Aisling looked at Rùnach who was walking behind them with his hands clasped behind his back, his head bowed. He looked at her briefly, smiled, then resumed his contemplation of the floor in front of him.

  The king seemed content to walk and be silent, so she joined him in that. It was growing easier to listen to the rock, perhaps because it had finished with the telling of its most important tales or perhaps the mountain had decided she needed to rest her ears.

  Or, she realized a short time later, perhaps it had taken pity on her because it knew what she would face in the forge. She realized that was the case when she walked into the smithy and a chorus of steel greeted her.

  The king looked at her, chuckled, then touched her elbow before he went to talk to his smith.

  She stood next to Rùnach near the door and looked up at him. He was watching her with a grave smile.

  “How are you?”

  “Distracted.”

  “I understand that the rock has things to say if you have ears to hear it.”

  “It sings as well.”

  He blinked, then laughed a little. “I didn’t know that. Is it a good song?”

  “It’s majestic.”

  “I think I envy you,” he said quietly. “All I heard was the drip of water. I didn’t see any, though, did you?”

  She shook her head. She hadn’t heard a drip; she had heard a small stream, in a place where she’d seen no trace of water.

  Very odd, that.

  She wondered what it meant and why the king seemed so bothered by it.

  * * *

  Supper was a very difficult affair. She sat on the king’s right hand, in the place of honor, with Rùnach on her right and didn’t mind the feeling of security that provided. The players were equally superb, weaving melodies that seemed to mingle with the tales whispered by the stone of the walls. The conversation was pleasant and the king’s household very kind. But she couldn’t hear any of it.

  Or perhaps it was that she could hear all of it.

  “Aisling, would you care to dance?”

  She focused on Rùnach with difficulty. “What?”

  He rose and held out his hand for her. She put her hand in his because that’s what she was accustomed to doing, only this time she hadn’t expected what would happen.

  The moment she touched him, the tumult stopped.

  She sighed deeply and walked with him out into the middle of the hall. She had learned one pattern from one of his cousins—she couldn’t remember which one at the moment—and fortunately the musicians seemed to know a tune that fit the steps. She looked up at Rùnach.

  “I’m distracted.”

  “I noticed.”

  She winced. “Have I been rude?”

  “Nay, just distracted.” He tilted his head as he looked at her. “Too much going on?”

  “Much too much,” she said honestly. “It’s as if the walls are competing to tell me their tales in the loudest voices possible. I have no idea why they’re concerned that I hear what they have to say, but they seem to be.” She looked up at him. “Do you hear it too? Here in the king’s hall, at least?”

  “Not anymore,” he said with a smile, “but I did once or twice in my youth.”

  “Do you think the king hears it? The tales the walls tell, I mean.”

  “I imagine he does, though I also imagine he doesn’t pay attention unless those tales concern him.”

  She smiled. “He’s very kind.”

  “He can be,” Rùnach agreed. “He can also be impossibly ruthless. It’s what makes a good king, I suppose.”

  “Does he enjoy it, do you think? Being in charge of his realm?”

  “I think he loves it,” Rùnach said dryly. “In spite of their differences, he and my grandfather share a few important characteristics, most notably the opinion that they know best in every situation. I suppose after all the years of sitting on the throne, they have earned the right to think so.”

  “Would you want to be in that place?” she asked. “King of some realm?”

  He laughed. “You know I wouldn’t. I’m perfectly happy to slip into obscurity.”

  “Are you?” she mused. “How is that possible?”

  “We’ll finish your task, then I’ll quite happily show just how ’tis done.” He smiled. “A little house, a garden, a place for Iteach to graze. Sheep to trim the weeds under the fruit trees.”

  “No sea?”

  “Is it impossible to have that as well, do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Is it?”

  “Why don’t we find out?”

  “I think of the two of us, you’ll find out first,” she said seriously. “I have many years to work before I could afford anything like it.”

  He smiled. “Nay, Aisling, I mean, why don’t the two of us find out together?”

  She stumbled to a halt, right there in the midst of the king’s great hall. “What are you talking about?” she managed.

  “What I’m talking about,” he said seriously, “is me, seeing to a house for you.”

  She considered that idea for the space of approximately two heartbeats before she shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said quietly, because the idea that he should look at her and see anything but a runaway weaver with ruined hands and no beauty in her face was . . .

  Well, it was the stuff of dreams, and not even in her most fanciful dreams did she see herself walking off into the sunset with the grandson of an elven king.

  She looked up at him. “I’m not sure how to repay you for everything you’ve done for me so far as it is.” She said the words, but she d
idn’t mean them. She just couldn’t bring herself to talk about the reason why her face felt as if it had caught fire and how absolutely preposterous it was that he should even talk about building her a house . . .

  Unless he merely meant he would build her a house and leave her to it.

  She fought the urge to turn and walk out of the hall. It was true that he had spent a goodly amount of time at Seanagarra glaring at his cousins when they would seek to accompany her here or there, or seek out her hand for a dance, but perhaps he simply didn’t like them—

  “You could,” he said slowly, “allow me to build a little house for you.”

  She did her best to nod casually. “Lovely,” she managed. “Terribly generous.”

  “Isn’t it, though? Let’s discuss it further. A little house on the edge of the sea. With no doors.”

  She started to ask him why no doors, but she had the most astonishing sensation of having envisioned just such a thing. She was distracted enough by that to find that whilst she had been trying to remember when she’d thought of a doorless house, she had begun dancing with Rùnach again. She looked up at him.

  “Did I dream that?”

  “I think you might have.”

  She took his hand again and picked up the pattern of the dance, though it was certainly not easily done on her part. It took her another set before she thought she could ask the question that bothered her. She was very grateful for the pause in the music as the players decided on which tune to choose next. She looked up at Rùnach. “Why would you want to build me a house like that?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “I have no idea,” she said, because she didn’t dare say anything else. “Because you pity me?”

  “Nay, Aisling of Bruadair, I do not pity you,” he said very seriously. He looked at her for a moment or two, then he smiled. “You know, I’m beginning to think I should have asked Mother Fàs for a book on proper courting methods. I’ll admit I’m at a bit of a loss.”

  “Well, I understand there is a contingent of very lovely women coming with traders tomorrow. If we’re still here, you might want to look them over.”